It was a picturesque day at a pond,
The glassy water gently undulated,
Transforming turtles to twigs.
The swans slowly carved their way forward,
The paddleboats hypnotically
Slap slap slapped.

But no day is perfect for everyone,
Like the coming of fall,
For betwixt the lily pads,
A swan lay
Dead,
Its head limp at its side.

Two deceivingly collected swans swam up,
Their wings arched over their backs.
One of the mourners swam up and went from calm
and collected,
To aggressive and emotional.
It began biting the neck of the dead swan, wings pumping,
causing a great ruckus.
Was it cannibalizing or freeing the other swan from its
eternal sleep?

That swan will be denied so much,
Days like today,
Cygnets,
And the late summer water relaxing away troubles.

Was it dead from natural causes, or man-made ones?
Could it have been saved?

So many questions,
Like the water in the clouds,
So much stress and more worry than bugs in a humid
summer’s night.
All from
The loss of a leaf.

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